Sticks and Stones
by littlegreen42
Summary: "Do I embarrass you, Scully?"


Mulder stood in front of the entire police department and explained his theory that the murder suspect was, in fact, a werewolf.

"A _werewolf_?" came the inevitable scoff.

"Well, actually, I prefer the term 'lycanthropy' to describe this condition," Mulder said, as eyes glazed over, glances were exchanged, and soft, stifled laughter was heard.

Mulder turned to look at Scully. She stood stiff and straight, seemingly unperturbed, but he could see that she was trying to keep a look of embarrassment from her face. Mulder shifted uneasily. Maybe he should try to tone down his spookiness just a little, for her sake. But he decided that if it really bothered her, she would have quit years ago.

* * *

><p>On the way back from the bathroom, Mulder overheard her speaking with one of the officers.<p>

"I wouldn't call Mulder crazy. He's… eccentric. His mind just doesn't work in the same way as everyone else. But he gets results."

"So he's one of those mad geniuses?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd phrase it that way, exactly…"

* * *

><p>"Do I embarrass you, Scully?" he asked, almost immediately upon entering her motel room.<p>

She was taken aback, and it was a while before she found her voice.

"No, Mulder," she said, "you don't embarrass me."

He smiled weakly, looking unconvinced. She led him across the room and they both sat on the end of the bed. Mulder sank into the old, worn-out mattress while Scully, lighter and more delicate, did not.

"I admit I would prefer it if you tried to ease people into considering your weird theories, rather than just stating them bluntly, but I realize that's not your style." She pursed her lips, thinking. She looked at him. "Maybe I _do_ get a little embarrassed, Mulder. But it's not that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you - I've got far too much self-respect for that - it's that I'm embarrassed _for_ you. When people look at you, I don't want them to think less of you, or feel sorry for you. I want them to respect you, the way I do."

He smiled. "You don't have to worry about that. I don't care what they think."

She eyed him curiously. "Do you _really_ not care what people think about you?"

"Well, maybe I do, to some extent. I'm only human. But what matters most of all is that I know what I'm saying is the truth."

"But you don't know if we're really dealing with a werewolf, Mulder. That's just conjecture. Completely unsubstantiated conjecture."

"Yeah," he said, "but it _could_ be true."

"Mulder."

"My conception of what's contained within the realm of possibilities is just much larger than it is for you and most people on this planet. I may not always be sure that what I'm saying is true, but I believe there's at least a possibility that it _could_ be true. I guess the truth's not really what matters the most to me." He fiddled with his cuffs, looked down, thinking for a moment. He looked up at her. "What I care about, above all, is that even if I were to run through the streets in my underwear, screaming to all who would listen that the Earth was hollow and that just below our feet, in their secret underground lair, Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster were holding a meeting to plot humanity's demise -"

She gave him a look of both disbelief and amusement.

"You would still stick by me, even then."

"Well, Mulder, I don't know. That's a bit of an extreme situation, don't you think?"

He grinned. "You know what I mean, Scully."

"I do."

"When you were…" He couldn't quit bring himself to say "dying." "When you were, I mean…"

She looked at him in such a way that he knew she understood what he meant. He held her gaze, took a deep breath and continued.

"I started thinking about how much I needed you, about how much you've done for me." Mulder bit his lip and watched her carefully. She was clearly grateful, but there was a noticeable undercurrent of discomfort. He certainly didn't like remembering her brush with death, and he was sure she didn't, either.

"Thanks for defending me, Scully," he said quickly.

She smiled. "No problem, Mulder."

"You know, when I was a kid, my little sister was my defender." He began to relax as he started stirring up old memories. "Of course, I hated it. I didn't want her sticking up for me; she was much younger than I was and a _girl._ Once she embarrassed me so badly I almost gave up talking to her. For part of the afternoon, at least."

"What happened?"

He eased into story-teller mode. "When I was in elementary school, I hadn't yet become the outcast everyone knows and loves today. But I was still something of a target, thanks to my parents' _creative_ choice of baby names. One day in fifth grade, I was hanging around with my friends when a group of especially stupid-looking boys showed up and started teasing me. They seemed unceasingly amused by my name, despite the fact that they'd known me since kindergarten and the novelty should've worn off for them five years earlier.

"I dealt with it in the way I usually did, using my wit. I basically told them that their insults weren't original, and if they tried to think of any good ones, they'd probably crush the single pea they all collectively shared for a brain. That's when this little _creature_ appeared from out of nowhere, its squeaky voice whistling through the hole where its left front tooth should've been, shouting, 'Don't you dare be mean to my brother!'"

"Oh, Samantha," Scully said, shaking her head. "It's a good thing my older brother didn't get picked on like that, or I would've foolishly come to his rescue, too."

"I think your older brother was the one picking on other kids, Scully."

"My brother wasn't _that_ bad."

He gave her a skeptical look.

"Come on, Mulder, just tell your story."

"Now, even back then I wasn't the sort of kid who worried too much about being popular or fitting in, but I wasn't a big fan of being humiliated by my baby sister, either. Thinking she'd listen to reason, I said, 'Come on, Samantha, get out of here.' But it was like she couldn't hear - she just kept right at it. The bullies laughed at her, and the more they laughed, the angrier she got. The angrier she got, the more she kept defending me. That's when they started pulling her pigtails. I knew I should've done something about it, but all I could think about was how embarrassed I was. But Samantha was a little fighter." He smiled at the memory. "She pulled herself free of those creeps and stood with her fists balled up like she was about to start beating the crap out of them - and you'd almost believe she could, from that _look_ in her eyes.

"And then it happened. Staring defiantly at everyone standing before her, she declared, 'My mom says he's a _very_ sensitive boy. You're hurting his feelings!'"

"Oh, Mulder," Scully said, looking both sympathetic and as though she might start laughing.

"Everyone was laughing. Even some of my friends. I snapped. I grabbed her by the collar and dragged her away from there. I yelled at her, calling her all kinds of terrible names until she looked like she was going to start crying. But she didn't. I think she wanted me to see how brave she was, so she didn't dare let any tears escape from her eyes, no matter how much she wanted to. I told her she'd ruined _everything_. I pushed her away, not too hard, but hard enough that I immediately felt bad about it. Then I wandered off to some secluded area of the playground, since I didn't really feel like dealing with anyone at that moment."

"What happened after that?"

"At home, Samantha told on me for yelling at her, so I called her a twerpy little pipsqueak. When I refused to apologize, Mom sent me to my room. Samantha immediately burst in there and started bothering me. She had these puppets on her hands and she made one of them say, _'Samantha says she's sorry she embarrassed you in front of the meany poo-heads from your class.'_ Even though I was doing my best to ignore her, and even though I was probably too old for that kind of humour, I laughed at the 'meany poo-heads' line. I stopped myself from laughing as soon as I could, but it was too late; she'd heard me. That meant she had me, and she knew it. That little smile on her face said it all.

"I was still in my wilfully angry state, but I started to soften. I thought about how tiny she was, and how brave it'd been for her to march up to a group of boys who were twice her size and stand up for me like that. I still hated her for it, but I had to admit I was somewhat in awe of her. I told her I was sorry for yelling at her, and asked her to promise never to embarrass me like that again. I let her crawl up onto my bed and I told her a story. Something about a basketball-playing astronaut - loosely based on myself, of course. She thought it was great. Of course, I could've recited the phone book, and she would've thought that was great, too."

"You were her big brother. You meant the world to her."

"Yeah." He stretched. "You know, Scully, I don't mind anymore if I'm defended by a girl who's younger and shorter than I am. In fact, I really appreciate it."

"Who're you calling a 'girl,' Mulder?"

"You know what I mean."

She sat there, thinking for a moment. "So, you _really_ think it was a werewolf that committed those murders."

He grinned. "Of course I do."

She yawned, turning to glance at the clock. "Well, I'd love to sit here and listen to you tell me exactly why you believe we have a lycanthrope on the loose, but it's late and I'd like to get some sleep."

"Don't worry, I'll have plenty of time to regale you with my latest werewolf theories tomorrow."

"I can't wait."

Mulder got up and Scully followed. He stood at the door. "Good night, Scully."

"Good night, Mulder," she said. "Thanks for the story."

He grinned boyishly. "Watch out for werewolves."

"I will."

"And were_foxes_, too."

He winked at her, then let out a werewolf howl before disappearing out the door, into the cold darkness of the night.


End file.
